The striking of the clock, the turning of the years. How graceful life has been, as it gives time to slowly turn the age of growing old into a child again. The one time darkened hair, now turning white. The young look once remembered has changed to life's many roads traveled and the growing pains it took. The scrapbook on the shelf holds the story pictures of life, and the many steps it took to portray ones walk in life. As I stand back in the shadows, I try to understand. That everything I see, ages in time. The tall spruce tree, the weeping willow, the roses on a vine. To everything their is a season. A time to reap, a time to harvest, a time to be born. It comes softly and silently only time knows the time. Least I not forget one more hug, one more kiss, one more goodbye. One more time to spend with you. One more time to hold your hand. One more time to say, I Love You. I close the book and placing it back on the shelf. I turn and look upon your face. The worn out look, the little smile. Your childlike ways. I take you into my arms and say, "let me hold you", as we sway back and fourth, "as you did me when I was a child". We have one more day, we have one more chance. We have this time. written by: Paula Angel of Love June 16, 2003